Who made me a Red Sox fan?
Was it Curt Gowdy’s melodious radio voice before
Television took over? Or High School friends like
Chuck, Poochey and Crutchy – all athletes, all Sox
Fans before me. Their local-hero status influenced
Me, less of an athlete, never on the varsity team,
Kind of a kid. Oh, they let me into their pickup
Games to fill out a roster, to act as fodder for bad
Jokes, too many errors, the wrong sneakers, not
To mention ignorance of box scores. Who was up?
Who was down at Fenway was a mystery to me but
Not them. Where are they now those teenage pros?
Dead, mostly, like the headline in today’s Boston
Globe: DEAD SOX! It says as recriminations begin
In earnest: Crawford missed a catch in left field! A
Catch-able ball! In left field! With two outs! One
Hundred forty-million-dollar-deal and he, he, Carl
Doesn’t go all out in the LAST GAME of the
Season! The LAST game of one awful month:
THE—VERY—LAST—DAMN—GAME!
This year is over and it’s only September. No post
Season. No world series. My expert analysis is rue.
Like High School, when I was clueless, so are we all!
Join the club. Red Sox nation has, collectively, struck
Out like Casey at the Bat: Mudville lacks joy. Every
Foolish fan’s name is spelled M-U-D-D. Last spring’s
“Greatest Red Sox team ever” has gone from dream to
Nightmare. A game of inches has become one of fans
Voting with their feet. A crowd of lemmings heading,
Fallen, over the steepest of cliffs – 2011’s lost season.
Some monster, somewhere, probably in the Bronx is
Green, O, green with glee at the Hub’s consternation.